


Harry Angel

by Quill_lumos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Humor, M/M, Parody, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-05
Updated: 2007-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 11:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quill_lumos/pseuds/Quill_lumos
Summary: Harry is having a rough time.  Stuck in limbo because of a celestial cock up he has to deal with angelic bureaucracy, wonky wings and a true love that you would not believe!





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.

 

 

****

A/N ~ This story is written for my dearest B.   
She is one of my closest online friends and it is thanks to her friendship and mentoring that I am writing fanfic at all.   
She has had a rough time recently and I wanted to cheer her up. So this is ny attempt at a fluffy Snarry.   
To B all my love ~ Lucie

BTW> This story is complete, but this is only part one. It is 13,500 words long and parts two - four are with my betas Kim and Branny. I'll post them when I get them back. I apologise to anyone who is reading one of my WIPs but there will be a new chapter of both stories in the next couple of days

 

Harry Angel

Harry was pissed off. Completely and utterly pissed off. He had had enough. He had had a thoroughly rotten life and, just when he thought things were going to get better and he was going to survive the final battle, he ended up dead. So now it looked as though he was going to have a thoroughly rotten death too.

It wasn’t his fault of course, but then none of it had been really, had it? He hadn’t asked to be targeted by a madman and have both of his parents murdered before he was two. He hadn’t done anything to deserve his atrocious childhood or the numerous attempts on his life that had blighted his teenage years. 

He had long suspected himself to be the butt of a gigantic cosmic joke and now knew this to be true.

So here he was in this celestial waiting room, _waiting_ for yet another decision to be made about him but without his input. 

With a (to Harry’s mind at least) well justified surge of anger Harry threw the nasty little harp they had given him across the cloud. He then had to suffer ten minutes of abuse from the cranky little cherub that he had narrowly missed with his carefully aimed lob.

“Sorry, sorry!” he soothed, holding up his hands in supplication as the chubby pink creature finished lecturing him. It gave him a final steely glare and then stalked off across the cloud in the direction of a sign which read _Elysian Fields._ Harry wondered if that was some kind of Heavenly Quidditch pitch. 

He wriggled his back in an attempt to straighten out his wings. These were huge and white and covered in feathers and Harry just knew they were going to take some getting used to. He felt over balanced and they kept opening wide when he wasn’t expecting it and bristling when he was cross, which seemed to be all the time right now.

Of course, even more than the wings, he hated the horrid nightie that they made him wear. They _told_ him that it wasn’t a nightdress, that it was a robe. But it reminded him of those dreadful things that Aunt Petunia used to buy from _British Home Stores,_ except that his _robe_ didn’t have sprigged blue flowers on it. He supposed it could also be compared to the dress robes that Ron had once worn to the Yule Ball - right down to the frilly cuffs and the lace around the collar.

Then there was his halo. He hadn’t seen many other angels yet, but those he had glimpsed in the distance seemed to have shiny halos that glowed and sort of hovered around their heads. But Harry’s halo was wonky; it looked sort of crooked to him and he thought that it was just typical that he should be the only angel in Heaven to have a cockeyed halo.

“Once a freak, always a freak, eh Harry?” he said to himself wryly.

But then he saw that the fat man with the fluffy white hair was coming out from the little room that he and several other angels had sequestered themselves in when he had appeared by some shiny, pearly gates.

He hadn’t expected them to give him a welcoming party when he first arrived, but he also hadn’t expected the angel who greeted him to blanch and stutter, “You shouldn’t be here!” several times before rushing off looking anguished.

He also hadn’t expected to garner as much notice from the copious other angelic hosts as he obviously had. Several winged people had rushed passed him into what seemed to be a celestial meeting room and banged the door firmly shut.

He was uncomfortably reminded of his appearance before the Wizengamot when he had saved Dudley from the dementors. 

Harry thought that perhaps he should stop angsting over being here with wonky halos and frilly robes, because maybe he was supposed to go to the other place after all. He couldn’t think what he had ever done to deserve that though, unless of course killing someone counted. Suddenly Harry felt chilled. That was it; he had killed Voldemort, maybe that meant he wasn’t fit for Heaven after all?

He could have wept. That is, he could have done had he not been a being made of pure energy who not only didn’t contain any water but didn’t have any tear ducts anyway.

“Harry,” Fluffy Hair said, actually speaking to Harry for the first time rather than gasping and throwing up his hands in shock and running away like everyone else had done. Harry felt that whatever happened at least he would know now. He smiled up at Fluffy Hair; he had a kind voice, and a concerned air. Harry was glad it was this angel who was about to break the news that Harry was in the wrong place. He hadn’t liked the first guy very much; for some reason that particular celestial being had reminded Harry far too much of Gilderoy Lockhart.

“S’okay,” he said rather sadly, “I won’t protest, I’ll go quietly. Would it be possible….Do you think I could maybe, just see a glimpse of my parents before I have to go?”

“My dear boy,” Fluffy Hair said kindly. “Where are you expecting to be sent?”

“You know,” Harry replied gesturing downwards, “the other place.”

Fluffy hair looked thoroughly shocked.

“My goodness, child. Is that what you thought we were discussing?” 

If he could have done, Harry would have blushed right then. Instead he hung his head and nodded.

“You poor child,” Fluffy Hair said. “You really have had a bit of a tough time, haven’t you? We do see it all up here, of course, but there are so many souls to take care of, there is only so much we can do to help…..” He trailed off, sadly. But then he brightened. “Come along, we are going to my office. There are some things I need to discuss with you, and whatever else you might think, dear boy, you have more than deserved a place in Heaven.”

The office was strangely reminiscent of Dumbledore’s and even just thinking about the old man gave Harry a lump in his throat. 

“Is Professor Dumbledore here?” he asked quietly.

Fluffy Hair smiled at him. “Oh yes, child,” he answered. “They are all here; you have a lot of people wanting to see you. But first we have something of a conundrum to solve.”

Harry wondered what a conundrum was when, all at once, he and Fluffy Hair were no longer alone.

“So this is Harry Potter,” the newcomer said somewhat snarkily, giving Harry a hard stare. “You, young man, are giving us a lot of trouble, you know!” 

“Erm, sorry?” Harry tried but, all at once, the new angel was smiling at him, quite kindly Harry thought.

“Sit down, dear boy,” Fluffy Hair said. “I have not introduced myself as yet; my name is Gabriel - Archangel Gabriel - and my colleague is Archangel Michael.”

Harry’s mouth formed a silent O shape. Even he had heard of Gabriel.

“A conundrum is another word for puzzle, Harry,” Gabriel continued, “and we have a very large _puzzle_ on our hands as far as you are concerned.

“To put it quite simply, you should not have died. The last curse should have bounced off you, just like the original one did, but the problem is that your guardian angel was new. He had just begun training and his reflexes were a tad too slow; he arrived few seconds too late to deflect the curse.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. He felt the first stirrings of annoyance. He also could not work out how Gabriel had realised that Harry had not known what a conundrum was. Did he truly look stupid or could they read minds up here?

“But why did I have a trainee angel, anyway?” he asked.

“Well,” said Michael, “it is very unfortunate but you had already worn out two previous angels and we were finding it hard to get anyone to take you on, and you are very far from stupid, young man!”

Resolving to be very careful about what he thought around the angels, who did truly seem to be reading his mind, Harry said incredulously, “But it wasn’t my fault if a crazed madman was trying to kill me!”

“Well, there was that,” conceded Gabriel.

“But there were other factors, Harry, were there not?” commented Michael dryly. “Basilisks at twelve? Dragons at fourteen? Close encounters with the Veil at fifteen? Need I go on?”

“I didn’t ask for that!” Harry exclaimed indignantly. “I didn’t ask for any of that!”

Michael gave him a hard stare.

“No, well, quite,” the angel continued. “Unfortunately it was the case, however, that you have managed to completely exhaust two very experienced guardian angels; a feat which I don’t think has been managed since the days of Arthur Pendragon himself! Both of your previous angels opted for early retirement and we had no option but to assign you Paulo, who is a novice, for the final battle.

“Paulo is a little over two hundred years old and would normally have been assigned to a baby, a small child who would grow up to lead an exemplary and safe life. Paulo is nothing, however, if not brave and he did at least agree to help us out.

“But there is a solution, or at least there could be.

“We can give you seven days. You can return to earth and, if in that time you can obtain a kiss from your true love, then you will be restored to life.”

Michael’s face was beaming with pride as he said these last few words.

But Harry was not satisfied.

“Oh please!” he said, grumpily. “You cannot be serious! That sounds like a cheesy plot from some crappy romance novel!”

Michael lost his celistial glow, and narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Look, it’s the best we can do at short notice,” he said snottily. “Take it or leave it; it’s your last chance.”

“Oh okay,” Harry replied, in a somewhat defeated tone, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just, well, don’t you think that that idea is a bit corny?”

Michael bristled.

“It was my idea!” he hissed through clenched angelic teeth.

Harry didn’t know where to put himself.

But Michael was continuing.

“Your true love is also your soul mate; a deep bond connects you. A truer love than most people ever find. It is that which gives us this window of hope; your soul is still tied to the one that was meant for you. If you can get them to recognise that, and show their recognition by the means of a kiss, then you will live again.

“It was just lucky that Paulo managed to hide your body, so no one knows that you are dead yet. The corpse has been held in a sort of stasis. If you do not find your soul mate, or convince them that they love you, then the body will be found and you will be back here. Permanently.”

“Sorry, I really am,” was all Harry could say; he was rather pleased now that angels couldn’t blush. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, you know?” Harry continued. “I don’t think there is anyone who loves me, I mean how could they? I certainly don’t know who my true love is. How would I find them anyway?”

“That’s alright, Harry,” Michael replied, smiling rather nastily. “You’ll be invisible to everyone but the love of your life.”

 

 

Harry had no idea how long he had been dead. How did you measure these things, anyway? He knew that wondering around watching his friends cope with their grief and their loss was like some sort of hell on earth and he wondered to himself what he had ever done to deserve such a crap deal.

Harry had always tried never to feel sorry for himself, but right now he felt so sad and alone. He had not been this alone since his horrid childhood at the Dursleys and he was so not going to visit them.

He knew that, after his interview with Michael and Gabriel, he had met with his family and he knew that the reunion had been wonderful. But his memories of Heaven were fading fast; they were vague, wispy, transient. Harry supposed that it was meant to be that way but he could not help wishing rather wistfully that he had more than a vague feeling of how wonderful it had felt to finally be hugged by his mother. How glorious it had been to see Sirius again or how he had felt so warmed by his father’s smile or Dumbledore’s pride.

He was feeling far from warm right now. He had finally returned to Grimmauld Place after several days of searching. He couldn’t think who else to try, and he thought that, very soon, he would be back with his parents and his godfather, because, how ever corny his task had seemed, Harry had managed to fail in this too. 

His first port of call when he had returned to earth had been, of course, Ginny. He had not been sure that she was his true love but she was the person that he had known that had seemed the closest to such a thing. But Ginny had not even noticed him. She had seemed desperately sad, her eyes had been red and she had been crying. She had been cuddled up on the sofa in the Weasley’s living room with a photo of him held tight against her chest.

At nearly eighteen, his former girlfriend was stunningly beautiful. As far as Harry was concerned she could have had any man on the planet; he had truly never understood what she saw in him. He had sat right beside her on the sofa and she hadn’t noticed; he had even stroked her glorious hair generating a small shiver from the miserable girl but no recognition whatsoever. Molly hadn’t seen him either when she bustled in with a mug of hot chocolate and a huge box of tissues in her hands and wasn’t Harry glad about that? Being the soul mate of Molly Weasley would have been far too weird. 

But even the Weasley matriarch would have been better than nobody and that was the situation he was in right now. Not one of the numerous people that he had visited over the past few days had seen him at all. Of course he had found out some interesting things. Hooch and Sinistra, who knew? Well, him, apparently, and maybe the ghosts at Hogwarts and absolutely, nobody else.

He had visited Ron and Hermione; not that he thought either of them was a soul mate, he had just wanted to see how they were. Sad and missing him, it seemed. Hermione had been reading through a pile of books. Apparently he had vanished on the battlefield in an explosion of light and she was researching spells that might have produced such an effect.

Harry rather doubted that angelic mistakes were included in any of the learned tomes that she was scouring, but he was absurdly touched that she was working so hard on his behalf.

It appeared that he had been gone for more than six weeks. In his travels Harry had discovered that all kinds of theories were being discussed as to what might possibly have happened to him. Everything from kidnapping by Death Eaters who had escaped detection, to Harry deciding that he wanted no more of the magical world; a wizard named Artemis Pringle had even suggested that Harry had been stolen away by aliens from somewhere called Alpha Centuri.

Harry thought it all completely bizarre. 

He couldn’t go back and leave Ron and Hermione, he had decided. He felt that he was letting them down; they had worked so hard! How would they feel when his body did turn up? At least they would know that he hadn’t left them willingly.

He had tried everyone he could think of, everyone he had ever met – and quite a few that he had not. He had even drifted over to Malfoy’s place. Malfoy and Snape had turned up five weeks after Dumbledore’s death clutching a brace of Horcruxes, which had of course accelerated the end of the war and, ironically, Harry’s death.

Malfoy hadn’t seen him either. Although Harry had been somewhat shocked when he had followed the blond to the Weasley’s house where he had proceeded to offer Ginny sympathy and support. Harry hadn’t believed him, for a minute, when he talked about a ‘tragic loss to wizarding kind’ but Ginny obviously did and made no attempt whatsoever to remove Malfoy’s hand from her knee or his arm from her shoulder.

That had been the final straw for Harry; he had seen Ginny turn large sad eyes on Malfoy, eyes that had never looked at him like that! Then he had truly despaired. Not that he thought Heaven would be all bad. It wasn’t an awful place to be, even if Arc Angel Michael had seemed a touch grumpy with him. Harry didn’t mind that at all, really; he had often had that effect on people. It reminded him a bit of Snape and he hadn’t minded Snape that much when he had found out that he had been forced to kill Dumbledore. He had actually felt quite sorry for the greasy git by the time he had died.

Died.

He had to face it, that’s what had happened and all of his efforts were useless because no one ever could (or ever would) love him as far as Harry could see. 

He put his head in his hands and wished that angels could cry. Harry Potter never cried, never had. There had never seemed to be any point. But, right now, he thought it might have made him feel better to give in to a bit of self pity.

He heard the front door of Grimmauld place fly open, waking up Old Mrs Black who proceeded to berate the person that had come through the door with a selection her usual epithets about blood traitors. She seemed to be getting particularly irate with whoever had just come in, however, and was bellowing things like “foul traitor” and “filthy spy.” Then Harry heard a voice that he recognised all too well.

“Do shut up, you viscious old hag!” It was Snape. Obviously he was living here as well as Lupin. He had seen his father’s old friend only the day before. Lupin had, unsurprisingly, not seen him.

By habit Harry was looking at the door when Snape crashed through it, laden with bags and swearing colourfully. He stopped, narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Harry who was still sitting rather forlornly on the battered sofa.

“Potter!” he hissed menacingly. “Where the blue blazes have you been and where the fuck did you get those wings?”


	2. Two

Here's the next one ~ thanks Kim

Two

Severus could not believe his luck sometimes. He knew he was a snarky bastard, he knew he had not always made the best choices in his life, but why oh why did he always seem to get landed with Potter?

The wizarding world had been in uproar for weeks now. The theories about what might have happened to the odious little brat grew ever more outlandish. Severus could care less. He was just glad that he no longer had to have anything to do with him. He had been pulling the boy’s arse out of the metaphorical fire for the last eight years and he for one had been delighted to see the back of him.

Any pity for Potter or pangs that might hint that he had missed the stupid child in his prolonged absence were ruthlessly stamped on. 

Merlin knew what time Lupin would be back - he certainly wasn’t here now - and Severus therefore had to get the great lump of boy off the kitchen floor and back on to the sofa all on his own. Potter had taken one look at Severus as he came through the door and fainted. 

He couldn’t understand it at all. The teenager was irritating beyond belief and as thick as a brick but he was not, and never had been, anything other than fiercely brave and undeterred by just about anything. 

He could only assume that, wherever Potter had been, he had not eaten regularly, because what else could possibly explain the fact that he had swooned like a particularly bad actress in a dire romance? He had even squeaked before collapsing to the floor in a puddle of lace, white cotton and wings.

He had proved stubbornly resistant to magic though, which was particularly puzzling. So Severus was currently trying to manhandle him back on to the sofa. It was not easy. The boy was far from heavy but the wings were proving more of a challenge. They were large and awkward and covered in feathers, which of course played havoc with Severus’ sinuses.

Severus was almost completely un-hexable by anyone other than a certain Dark Lord and a batty ex-headmaster. Neither of whom were a problem any longer as they had both moved on to what Albus had called ‘the next great adventure’ – although Severus hoped that Albus was enjoying his afterlife far more than Voldemort was enjoying his. In fact Severus hoped quite heartily that there was a special place reserved in Hell for his former master.

He was completely un-shockable, Severus was, and very good at defending himself even without magic. This was largely thanks to several summers spent in the company of a rather fierce squib by the name of Sammy Wong who had taught him a battery of rather useful self-defence moves. He could also brew a potion to overcome just about any problem or malady, with the exception of one. 

Severus was very allergic to feathers, and nothing and nobody had ever been able to cure him. Something the Marauders had delighted in using against the Slytherin whenever and however they could.

The mere presence of feathers sent him into huge fits of sneezing, which had of course earned him the nickname of Snivellus. The loathsome quartet also known as the Marauders had derived a lot of pleasure over the years from secreting feathers whenever they got a chance; something they had done from his very first day at Hogwarts when his little difficulty had been discovered as Severus had been the only child in the class unable to perform Wingardium Leviosa. 

He had been tempted to leave Potter where he was, but he had felt a pang of pity for the lad, lying on the hard wooden boards looking for all the world like a fallen angel.

Once the sneezing had started he had felt quite differently though; he had very nearly given his erstwhile charge a kick in the ribs, but somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that to the young man when he was unconscious. 

Even if he was a Potter.

Once his prolonged fit of sneezes had finally abated, Severus blew his, now rather sore, nose into a large cotton handkerchief and sat on one of the easy-chairs, which he assumed had once been a match for the equally battered sofa. He watched Potter who, despite Severus’ less than gentle manhandling, had not yet awoken.

He really was rather beautiful, and as the boy lay so still and was not pulling one of those hideous faces that seemed to mar his features, Severus could see rather a strong resemblance to Lily.

Severus had loved Lily; she had been a fierce supporter and a true friend, right until she had started dating that bastard James Potter. Severus had never forgiven her for that and had then spent the next nineteen years awash with guilt that he had not spoken to Lily again and not realised how stupid he had been to throw away her friendship until it was too late and he had lost her for good.

He had sworn an oath to protect her son and he had always done that to the best of his ability; even if he could not quite forgive the lad the fact that he so strongly resembled his father, or that he had his mother’s eyes. 

He also had a crease in his forehead that was just like the one that Lily wore when she was confused. He looked quite peaceful though on that sofa, peaceful and a little squashed.

Then all at once Severus realised that Potter was not breathing, his chest was still.

“Oh fuck!” he muttered. 

He had had a dreadful struggle to prove his innocence. 

Even after Minerva and Arthur Weasley had spoken up for him - not to mention war heroes Ron Weasley, his twin brothers Fred and George, Hagrid and Granger - it had been really hard going, fighting for his freedom, and he was sure that he almost didn’t make it. Albus had left pensieve testimony too but at one point Severus had been sure that he would be thrown into the deepest darkest cell in Azkaban and never see daylight again.

He was sure that the sealed letter in Potter’s writing attesting to his innocence that had turned up just after his arrest, was the deciding factor that allowed him freedom after several very tense weeks. The letter, which had simultaneously been copied to both The Quibbler and The Daily Prophet, had been one piece of evidence which even the smarmy Scrimgeour could not ignore. 

He was restricted, closely watched and forbidden to ever teach again, but he had a freedom of sorts and it was more than he had ever hoped for.

But if he were found with a dead Potter in his possession, none of that would be of any use whatsoever. 

Severus was not proud of what he did next. 

He panicked.

Leaping from his seat, he rushed over to the prone child. He drew his wand and was about to start working his way through his repertoire of resuscitation spells when he remembered that magic didn’t seem to be working on him at the moment. He thought back to all those weeks of training with Sammy Wong; Sammy had taught him Muggle first aid, just in case he ever needed it and right now he did. Severus vowed to send his old mentor a case of whisky as soon as he got out of this current predicament and moved even closer to Potter silently rehearsing the rules of CPR. 

He knelt down beside the boy and drew in a deep breath preparing for the procedure. But then he felt those blasted feathers tickle his nose and Severus couldn’t help what he did next, he sneezed.

“Eeeww!” 

Potter had awoken at that soggy impetuous. He sat up and shuddered, wiping the moisture from his face as he did so with the back of a rather frilly sleeve.

He was looking a bit battered and now that he was sitting up Severus could see that the huge wings were not quite straight and the golden glow that surrounded Potter’s head in a perfect circle was also somewhat wonky. Fallen angel indeed!

Severus could feel his anger rising. He was beyond angry, way past incensed. Severus was furious, incandescent with rage. The bloody brat had had the temerity to turn up here after several weeks missing in action, dressed in a particularly bad fancy dress costume. It looked to Severus like he had been outfitted at a Muggle fancy dress shop and then applied some dodgy magic of his own devising. Anyone could see that the hideous nightdress that Potter was wearing was from a Muggle chain store.

And as for the wings! 

Somehow Potter must have found out about his allergy. He wondered if the little sod’s friends had secreted themselves somewhere in the room and were having a laugh at Severus’ expense.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He had had a shite day and this debacle had just finished the whole thing off nicely.

In simple terms Severus Snape completely and utterly lost his temper.

He ranted, he bellowed and he raged. He told Potter exactly what he thought of him, what he had always thought of him. How useless he was, what a complete waste of space. How like his father he was, what an arrogant bully, a spiteful malicious child. He went on shouting at Potter until his voice was hoarse and he could simply think of nothing else to say.

All the time the boy just sat there looking sad. His wings seemed to droop and even the halo that surrounded his head appeared to lose its shine. The sorrow in those bright green eyes grew deeper and Potter said not one word to defend himself. 

Now that he wasn’t wearing his abominable glasses, Severus could see how truly amazing those eyes were, how striking he had become.

But still he did not speak. Instead he buried his head in his hands and let out a dry, pitiful sob.

Severus sat down beside him; he was at a total loss about what to do. 

He had expected Potter to shout back, to laugh, to do anything other than what he had done.

Now he was sitting beside the brat really looking at him. He could see that the costume was rather better than he had first thought. The wings seemed to almost glitter and the nightdress had an iridescent glow. But it was the halo that was truly striking. That had to be magical; Muggles could surely not have created something that shimmered around the young man’s head in the way that it did. 

Potter looked truly distraught. Severus could not understand what had come over him to play such a bizarre trick; the lad had never really been into tricks, had he? And if Severus were truly honest he knew that the young man had never been a bully either; he couldn’t have known about his allergy, could he? Severus thought as he gave another sneeze.

Potter gave him a clean handkerchief. This one was as white as the gown that he was wearing, an almost unearthly white. Severus took it and blew his nose again.

“Sorry to have disturbed you,” Potter muttered sadly. “At least you got your wish, I suppose, so the evening isn’t a total waste after all.”

Severus was nonplussed. “What are you blethering on about Potter?” he asked.

“You said that you wished that I was dead,” the boy answered softly, “and you got your wish, ‘cause I am.”

He had obviously lost whatever marbles he had ever owned, Severus told himself. The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Go-Bonkers!

“You are making even less sense than you normally do Potter. This latest idiocy must be a new low, even for you. What do you think you are doing?”

The young man turned and looked at him. “I _am_ dead, Professor! Voldemort killed me. They sent me back because they said there was some sort of chance that I might be able to undo it, my death I mean, because I wasn’t supposed to die just yet. 

“It all went wrong because I had a new Guardian Angel called Paulo. But he was very inexperienced, apparently, and didn’t realise that Professor Dumbledore’s death should have shielded me from the killing curse and enabled him to protect me so he didn't get there fast enough. 

“But there isn’t a chance, I know that now, so I’ll be going back. I’ll have to wait three more days I think, but then, well I’ll be gone.”

He trailed off, looking sadly at the ground.

“I know it’s not a full moon, Potter,” Severus snarled, “because that mangy wolf who sees himself as your honorary godfather only transformed last week! So I hope you have some other explanation as to why you have suddenly gone completely and utterly barking mad?”

“I’m not mad, Professor,” Potter said in a tiny voice. “I only wish I was.”

Severus thought that the boy was making no more sense now than he had earlier. Something had obviously happened to him whist he was missing. He decided that he would call Potter’s friends. He hated them both almost as much as he hated Potter but the brat obviously needed someone right now so he would have to put about with the Granger girl’s know-it-all wittering and the Weasley boys idiocy. He would fire-call them, he decided.

“I think you need help, Potter,” he said witheringly. “You have obviously lost whatever feeble control you might once have had on your pitiful excuse for a brain! I am going to call your friends; they will come over and talk to you and you will realise that you are completely delusional.”

“They can’t see me,” Potter said. “Nobody can see me, only you.”

Severus snorted. He marched over to the fireplace. He would call Granger now and put an end to this ridiculous charade. The girl was insufferable but she would not lie; she would convince Potter that he could be seen and then she would take him away somewhere, where he would no doubt be fawned over like some returning hero and he, Severus, would get some peace.

Then old Mrs Black started cursing someone for the second time that night, “Foul beast! Disgusting animal, besmirching my home!”

Lupin came into the room. He looked tired and beaten down. He never smiled these days, a lot of people smiled no longer, since Potter had disappeared. Which made the brat’s callous actions even more heinous, in Severus opinion.

Potter looked at the man who had been his parent’s oldest friend with a sad, wistful expression on his face and Lupin walked straight past him and put the kettle on.

“Had a good day, Severus?” he asked pleasantly. “Did you have much trouble getting the ingredients for that new potion that you were talking about?”

He remained in the kitchen for almost an hour just chatting about inconsequentials, making more tea and not once did he even look in the direction of the sofa. The boy didn’t move, he continued to sit there looking very forlorn and completely unsurprised at the werewolf’s lack of reaction. 

It was too late for dinner and they had both eaten already anyway, it seemed. Severus had no idea if his unwanted visitor was hungry or not; if he was then he was just going to have to ask for food.

Severus had decided that he was not going to play Potter’s game. Whatever disillusionment spell that he had used on himself obviously didn’t work on Severus like it did on Lupin. Severus had never heard of a spell like that before. Either you were invisible or not, you couldn’t be both, as far as he knew at least.

He could just imagine how the conversation between him and Lupin might run, with Severus trying to convince the werewolf that Potter was there and the werewolf not believing him, but getting hopeful anyway. He couldn’t do that to the shabby mutt. He didn’t like him, but he knew how much the other man loved the lad. Lupin had been the one Marauder who had been nice to Severus - before he tried to rip his throat out, at least! 

Severus had always known deep down that that particular incident had not really been Lupin’s fault. He couldn’t forgive him for it but he wouldn’t torture the man either.

So he contented himself with glowering at the brat from time to time.

But he couldn’t bring himself to shout at him any more. The child looked so lost and if anything a little droopy. He looked like he wanted to cry and Potter never looked like that in Severus view. He had been defiant, arrogant, rude, brave, fiercely loyal and very, very strong but not sad like this, not ever.

Severus felt a little uncomfortable. He had said some truly dreadful things to the boy earlier and Potter had said not a word to defend himself. Not even against the many comments that had just been shouted in anger and that were patently not true.

Potter looked defeated.

Severus felt a pang of something that was almost pity. Perhaps the boy was confused? Had been damaged in some way? Had been hit by a malicious spell? He certainly seemed to believe what he had told Severus about being dead.

Severus snorted to himself.

How ridiculous the child was. Severus had seen plenty of ghosts in his time and they didn’t look like Potter!

“I beg your pardon Severus. Did you say something?”

“No Lupin, I did not!” Severus sneered. “I am just thinking that it never ceases to amaze me how stupid people can be sometimes. They’ll believe anything that they are told, without scepticism! Gullible idiots, you’ll not find me so easy to fool!”

He glared fiercely at Potter and swept from the room, leaving what appeared to be a very baffled looking werewolf behind him.


	3. Three

Here's the third chapter, the last one will be along later ~ thanks Kim for your wonderful work

 

Three

Harry couldn’t believe that he had fainted. He had never fainted before, not even when Aunt Marge’s dog Ripper had caught him when he was eight and sunk his teeth into Harry’s leg. It had been the worst pain Harry had ever had to suffer and it had seemed like hours before the nasty brute had finally been tempted into letting go by the means of the production of a nice piece of rump steak that he could chew instead. Uncle Vernon had been furious with Harry about that incident, because steak was apparently “bloody expensive.”

For a while, after Remus left, he had just sat in the kitchen and wished he could go back to Heaven. His memories grew ever more vague as time went on, but at least there he had felt loved. All he had were fragmented images; he thought that Dumbledore had hugged him, that his father and Sirius had persuaded him onto a broom and that they had chased each other through snowy clouds, upsetting yet another cherub with their impromptu game.

Perhaps that was a dream? 

He thought that his mother had held him, had stroked his hair and sang to him. But maybe not? That could have been a dream too. Though when he might have dreamed when he hadn’t been able to sleep was a mystery that Harry was not even going to think about.

He had expected Snape to say something to Remus, something about Harry being in the room, about foolish tricks and egotistical brats. Perhaps repeat some of the awful things that he had said to Harry earlier about selfishness and stupidity. But the ex-professor had surprised him. He had kept silent, contenting himself with merely staring at Harry with narrowed eyes from time to time.

His eyes were so black, Harry thought, they were unfathomable. That was a word, wasn’t it? Hermione would know. He wished he could ask her.

Harry was still sitting on the sofa. He pulled his knees up and hugged them; he felt so cold all of a sudden and this was all he could do to comfort himself.

He sighed deeply. Harry didn’t need to breathe anymore. Or eat, or drink. He had not needed the loo or even any sleep since he had come back. But he wanted those things, he wanted normality. And at least he could still sigh; that felt normal, at least.

When Snape had seen him, after days of desperately trying to get anyone to notice him, Harry had been completely overwhelmed. He had known with out a doubt that he was lost, that he would return to Heaven. Snape would never want him, not in a million years. 

He shouldn’t want to be back here anyway should he anyway? Did it make him weird to want to be somewhere that he had been so unloved and ignored? It was wonderful in Heaven. But somehow he felt cheated. When Gabriel had sent him back a few short days ago Harry had felt that there had been a chance that he might finally have a normal life.

But Snape? Snape as a soul mate?

Snape had hated Harry ever since the first moment that he had seen him, probably even before that, really. Snape hated Harry for reasons that had nothing to do with him at all and now he hated him because of the enmity that had developed between them over the years. Now it was personal too.

After Snape had killed Dumbledore, Harry hated him in return. If he had met him at anytime in the next few months he would have killed him if he could. But instead Harry had been captured at Godric’s Hollow; Bellatrix Lestrange had been waiting for them and Harry had managed to somehow send Ron and Hermione to safety. But she hadn’t wanted them anyhow, had she? She just wanted Harry to be hers to torture and kill, whatever Voldemort had decreed.

It had been Snape who had saved him. And in the process of rescuing Harry, he had taken a particularly nasty cutting curse to one arm. An injury that had taken weeks to heal, weeks that had seen Harry nursing his guilt close, the guilt that he might have caused Snape to be endangered and he had as penance insisted on helping him to get better.

Each moment that he had spent with Snape had been punishment indeed in those few short months before the final battle. The man had repeatedly lashed him with words, insulted his intelligence and yet also ensured that he had carried on to face Voldemort as prepared as he could possibly be. And sometime in that peculiar interlude Harry had stopped hating the other man and had come to admire him instead. He still found that he could not like him, but he respected him, respected his strength and his courage.

He was under no illusion how Snape felt about him though, even before his ex-professor had told him, yet again, in exhaustive detail, exactly how he felt just a little bit earlier.

They had left now though, Snape and Remus, and Harry was alone again. He couldn’t help himself, he was brooding he knew. He had gone four days now with out talking to anyone but Snape and he felt very lost and alone.

“Pull yourself together, Potter! You do seem to have a way with self pity, do you not?”

Snape had come back! Harry felt stung by his sharp words and yet at the same time very pleased to see him. He still thought that he had every right to be a bit upset, but when he looked at Snape the man looked almost, well nearly, not cross.

“Sorry, Professor,” he mumbled. 

“Yes well, kindly refrain from using the honorific and I shall forgive you. And stop muttering, it makes you seem even more stupid than you truly are.”

Harry was about to apologise again, but he could not quite bring himself to do so, instead he said.

“What shall I call you then?”

Snape looked at him consideringly for a moment. 

“Since you kindly removed that monumental blight on my life that used to go by the name of Voldemort, you have probably earned the right to call me anything that you wish,” he answered smoothly, “but I would prefer it if you would call me Severus.”

Harry smiled; he felt much warmer now and just a little bit less lost.

“Severus.” The word felt strange in his mouth.

“Don’t overuse it. But you may address me by it, if you feel you must.

“I am going to bed now, I have had a very long day and I need to sleep.

“Do you wish me to find you some bed linen? Several of the rooms upstairs are currently empty.”

“No thank you S…Severus, I don’t need to sleep any longer, not since I died.”

Snape snorted rudely and slammed out of the kitchen again.

“Oh do what you bloody like! You normally do anyway!” he shouted over his shoulder as he left. 

But Harry was rather touched that Severus had thought about his sleeping arrangements and had bothered to come to find him.

He uncurled a bit on the sofa, laid his head back against the soft feathers of his wings - they had some uses after all! And he waited for dawn to break humming softly to himself to keep away the night. It was a song that he could not remember ever hearing and at the same time he felt that he had known it all his life; it stopped him from feeling so alone.

 

 

The first morning Severus determinedly ignored him. Except to narrow his eyes and scowl in Harry’s direction from time to time and hiss under his breath every time that Harry sighed or even worse, tried to ask a question.

It was a glorious day, but Harry felt himself strangely reluctant to go outside. He could not get used to the fact that he could not feel the wind against his face, not even the gentlest of breezes or that the sun seemed to hold no warmth for him. It was like wandering through a dreamscape.

He also found himself strangely reluctant to leave Severus’ presence.

To keep himself occupied he started to hum. It was one of _those_ songs again, the ones that he didn’t remember hearing and now couldn’t seem to forget.

He had just run through his repertoire for the third time when Severus, all at once, very obviously, had had enough.

“Potter will you please stop that endless caterwauling!” he bellowed causing Harry to gasp in shock.

“S…sorry!” Harry said, softly.

“You can stay,” Severus said, more gently, “but be quiet and do not interrupt me.”

Harry couldn’t help himself, he smiled. He felt like he had won a victory, a tiny one but still a victory.

When, a little bit later, Severus began to whistle one of the tunes that Harry had been humming under his breath his smile widened even more.

 

The next few days developed into a pattern. Remus was out from first thing in the morning to late at night and, when he was there, Severus ignored Harry, except to send him the occasional glare. But when they were alone Severus was, well, he was civil most of the time. 

Harry felt strangely fascinated by the older man.

He couldn’t help noticing the way he pursed his lips and tucked his shoulder length hair behind his ear when he was concentrating on something. Or the fact that he drummed his fingers on the worktop when he was reading one of his copious collection of potions books, or that dark stubble defined his jaw, which in turn seemed to emphasis the curve of his neck and he couldn’t help wondering what Severus would taste like if he licked him. Just a tiny lick where the jaw line met his ear, the bit that got exposed when he tucked his hair away.

He was not a handsome man, Severus Snape, but his face had a quiet strength and Harry felt increasingly drawn to him.

He liked listening to Severus talk, he found. He liked hearing the deep honeyed voice. Harry’s silence, his quiet presence proved quite effective in letting him learn more about the other man. After an initial period of mistrust, Severus seemed to almost forget that Harry was the child of his enemy and began treating him in a way that might almost be described as fond.

Oh he still lost his temper from time to time, especially when Harry wouldn’t eat or drink. He tried to fool Harry into picking things up or catching things, but Harry couldn’t. 

One of the hardest things about being here, back on earth, was that he could touch nothing, affect nothing. Nothing but Severus, it seemed. He wasn’t even really sitting on this sofa was he? Or leaning back against the cushions. It wasn’t like he could feel them or anything; it was just an illusion, which was probably intended to make things seem more real to Severus than if Harry were to sort of float an inch or two above everything. Either that or Gabriel had decided that the ex professor was right and Harry was very close indeed to insanity and needed a bit of apparent normality to stop him going completely round the twist!

But the little touches from Severus had helped Harry feel more real as well.

Once, when Harry felt deeply lonely and lost, he had taken himself off, not wanting to inflict his mood on Severus. The other man had found him and squeezed his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Another time he had brushed that same hand against his cheek. Those touches burned with intensity against Harry’s skin, emphasised by the fact that he could feel nothing else at all.

Harry found that he was more and more attracted to Severus and could not seem to be without him for long, not now that he had found him.

The ex potions professor in his turn began to treat Harry as a sort of puzzle that he needed to solve. He periodically asked him questions and tried out little schemes, such as chucking things at him, which always fell harmlessly to one side, or eating and drinking in front of him as he obviously thought Harry had been deluded into thinking that he couldn’t consume anything and that if he just got hungry enough he would crack and demand sustenance.

Harry gave up telling Severus that he was dead; the man just didn’t believe him. The magical world, for all its wonders, did seem to have some very peculiar ideas. Like the way that everyone decided that Harry was evil because he could speak parseltongue, or that Sirius had been a Grim, which, if they saw him, would cause them to drop down dead after a single glimpse.

Maybe they didn’t believe in angels? Or maybe Severus just didn’t want to believe?

Whatever the truth was, Harry didn’t like the little schemes very much, because they never worked and then Severus would get really snarky for a bit. Harry couldn’t help thinking that Severus and Archangel Michael would probably get on quite well if they ever met; they certainly seemed to share an opinion about Harry’s ability to annoy them.

Severus still snapped at him frequently and insulted his intelligence almost by the hour. But, by the third day, he seemed to have become quite accustomed to Harry’s presence, and had even stopped sneezing when he was in close proximity to Harry’s wings.

Harry felt more used to them now and hardly seemed to notice that they were there. He thought his halo was less wonky too but he couldn’t really check, as he didn’t have a reflection or a shadow. 

Harry felt quite pleased that Severus never seemed to need any sleep either; he was working hard at research. There were several potions that he wanted to perfect, he told Harry in one of those increasing moments of near harmony that they seemed to be establishing between them. Wolfsbane was one and another was a potion that reversed the damage that was caused by repeated exposure to Cruciatus. 

That he might have a personal interest in the second potion was betrayed by a certain tremor in his hands when he was tired, or had been chopping potions ingredients for a prolonged time.

Harry told Severus a little more about himself too. He told the older man a bit about his childhood and his first experiences of the magical world. He thought that once or twice the other man had seemed to almost sympathise with him.

He certainly smiled at Harry on occasion and even snorted with laughter once, when Harry told him that dead men didn’t wear glasses. It had appealed to Severus sense of humour apparently which left Harry feeling strangely warmed for hours afterwards.

He had found himself looking at those lips from time to time and wondering what they would be like to kiss. He wanted to run his fingers through Severus’ hair; it was thick and glossy and he wanted to touch it, smell it. But he didn’t think Severus would approve so he restrained himself.

All at once, it was Harry’s final night and he really and truly didn’t want to leave. 

Being with Severus like this, Harry had finally found a strange sort of contentment. But if he was going to be leaving soon then he wanted to say goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and Ginny. He decided he would also visit Neville and Luna and Remus and Hagrid, one more time. 

Time seemed to be different in Heaven, he thought. He had believed that he had been there for a very short while and yet weeks had passed here on earth; who knew how long it would be before he saw the people that he loved again?

Severus was humming to himself and Harry really didn’t want to go. He wanted to crawl into those strong arms and to hold the man that he had become so fond of. He wanted to be held in return, but Severus didn’t see Harry like that, did he? Severus had - except for those weeks when Harry had been in Heaven – been Harry’s constant companion of late and Harry had grown very fond of him. He thought that perhaps it was even deeper than that; he wanted to love him, to be loved by him, but he didn’t think that that would ever happen.

Severus tolerated Harry. He hadn’t asked him to leave, Harry thought, because he felt sorry for him. He could see that Harry was lost and alone and so he hadn’t sent him away. Even though, as he kept telling Harry, he valued his solitude.

“Um, Severus,” he began. The other man stopped his singing and looked up at Harry.

“Yes?” he said, shortly.

“Er, I have to go soon, I think.”

“And where on earth do you think you are going? Apparently nobody can see you but me?”

“Um not earth. I’m returning um back there soon, Sev.” Harry said, not wanting to mention the “H” word as it seemed to annoy Severus so much when he did. “I think it’s time to leave, and I want to say goodbye to my friends.”

Severus harrumphed at him, and snarled something about the Potter talent for over dramatisation.

Was it Harry’s imagination or did the other man look a tiny bit sad?

He wouldn’t look at Harry as he sneered, “Good I have been waiting for you to go. I really need some peace and quiet for a while!”

He still didn’t look up when Harry left.

 

 

Harry did visit them all. Being an angel seemed to have some advantages after all; he would just think of someone and all at once he would be with them and this time, although they couldn’t seem to see him, it was almost as if they sensed something at least.

Ginny was sleeping. 

Harry was glad to see that she was alone. He was not planning on saying goodbye to Malfoy. He just thought it was a pity that he wasn’t allowed to haunt the blond boy; he wouldn’t have minded the use of the skills that Peeves seemed to enjoy if only for a day or two!

He watched his former girlfriend for a moment, drinking in her beauty. He found himself close to her bed, without even consciously wishing it and she stirred and turned her face in his direction.

“Harry!” It was a whisper and Harry found himself holding breath that he didn’t have. 

“Goodbye, Gin,” he said softly. “Be happy. Even if it’s with Malfoy, I hope you find the love that you deserve. But tell him…..tell him that if he hurts you, I will find a way to come back and fucking haunt him!”

A single tear made its way from the corner of Ginny’s eye, ran down her cheek and sank into the pillow on which she lay.

He reached out a hand and touched the cheek, tracing the trail that the tear had left and she sighed and her eyelids fluttered, but she did not awake. Just for a moment he thought he felt the warmth of her skin and the gentle caress of her breathing.

Harry stepped back and turned to leave. He didn’t notice the single white feather that was somehow deposited on Ginny’s pillow beside her hand, waiting for morning.

Neville was sitting up in bed and reading a book with the somewhat peculiar title. _“Green fingers and their erotic uses.”_ by Rosy Glow. 

Harry sat on the bed by Neville’s feet.

“I know you can’t hear me, mate,” he said, “ but I just wanted to say thank you and goodbye. You’ve been good to me, Nev. You stood by me and supported me. You really have been a true friend.

“Goodbye Neville. Have a good life.”

Neville looked up, for moment he almost seemed about to speak, he even opened his mouth. But in the end he gave himself a shake, closed his book and laid it aside until the morning. He didn’t notice the rather fine white feather that he’d used as a bookmark; he simply blew out his candle and lay down to sleep.

Luna was sitting at a battered mahogany desk writing what appeared to be a diary. She looked up when Harry appeared and then reached out a hand and touched the air near Harry’s face. He didn’t think that even she could see him, but she spoke to him nevertheless.

“Harry, is that you? Have you come for a visit? That’s nice, we’ve missed you, you know. Are you going away? To the other side?

“Sleep well, Harry, and watch out for cherubs when you get to Heaven, everyone knows that they are very cranky!”

She popped the fine white feather behind her ear and went back to writing when Harry left.

Remus was with Tonks. He peered around the room when Harry materialised and sniffed the air once or twice looking a bit confused.

“Harry?” he said in wonder.

“What is it, Remus?” Tonks was obviously getting ready for bed. She was wearing a pair of orange pyjamas that were decorated with kneazles and which clashed violently with her purple hair.

Remus still looked perplexed.

He shivered. “ I don’t know, poppet,” he said. “It’s just that, for a moment, I thought…it’s just that ….It smelt like Harry in here.”

“Oh Remus!” Tonks said sadly, she took him in her arms and stood holding him, stroking his back.

“Goodbye, Remus!” Harry said, “I could have loved you like a dad, I wish that we’d had a bit more time.”

Remus cocked his head to one side, almost as if he were listening for something. Then he held out a hand and caught the feather that seemed to have appeared from nowhere and held it tightly as if frightened that it too would disappear.

Hagrid was snoring like a runaway express train.

“Bye, Hagrid.” 

The giant didn’t stir when Harry spoke to him, except to mumble something about keeping away from the forest now that Grawp had gone back to Albania. But Fang looked at him and wagged his tail and whimpered.

“Look after him for me, Fang,” Harry said. “Don’t let him raise anymore dragons.” Fang whined and placed a giant paw over the feather that appeared from nowhere and now lay starkly against the coverlet.

Hermione and Ron were together. They lay in each other’s arms as if seeking comfort. Harry stood watching them for the longest time.

“Goodbye, you two! I loved you both like I’ve never loved anyone before. Thanks for everything. Goodbye.”

Hermione did not stir. She, like Severus, would not have believed that Harry was an angel; she would have needed proof, lots of proof! And then she would have read a huge pile of books about after-death experiences and tried to find a way to help. Ever logical, dearest Hermione.

But Ron sensed something. He frowned in his sleep.

“Bye Harry,” he murmured, not really waking. “We love you mate.” In the morning they too would find a feather, the brightest and whitest of all, lying between them on the cover of the single bed in which they were squeezed.

Harry was outside Grimmauld Place at last. His goodbyes over, all except one. As he moved towards the shabby back door he felt a drop of water on his nose and then another and another all at once it was raining and Harry was getting wet. He could feel it drenching him warm and glorious.

He could feel something!

Harry threw back his head and yelled his delight to the heavens above.


	4. Four

This is it, final part. Thanks Kim *smooches her*

 

Four

 

Potter was missing. One minute he had been here, the next he had vanished and Severus felt cross. Where did the boy think he was going? Nobody could see him but Severus could they? That’s what he had discovered - about that, at least, Harry was telling the truth. So what was the point of going to ‘see’ anyone else?

What did the ridiculous child think he was doing, disappearing like that? Worrying him. Severus stopped mid-thought. He had not just felt a pang of concern for the boy’s safety, had he? He shivered. He had obviously spent far too much time with the peculiar creature that was it! He would finally get some time all on his own without the blasted hero of the wizarding world following him about like a lost puppy.

He would make himself a nice cup of tea and read a good book and not have to worry about Potter making all those weird Pottery noises that he kept coming out with. The snuffles and the sighs and the long dark looks. No, he told himself, it would be peaceful, relaxing.

He wondered what time it was and cast _tempus_ just to check. Hmmm, twenty-five past eight. Not that late, then.

He made a proper cup of tea. Two heaped teaspoons of Darjeeling in a pre-warmed pot. Let it brew for exactly five minutes and then pour it. Add the milk afterwards so as not to scold it. Not like the Potter boy made tea. A great dollop of milk, a _teabag!_ Boiled water sloshed in, teabag squeezed once and chucked in the sink and then three teaspoons of sugar.

He shivered again.

How anyone could ruin good tea like that was beyond him. But then he snorted to himself. Potter didn’t drink good tea, did he? He drank the sweepings from the floor and called it tea. He was about to tell the boy so, but then he realised that he wasn’t here right now. He had disappeared somewhere.

Thank goodness for that, he told himself. Peace at last!

And then he remembered that he had not actually seen the young man drink anything at all, not since he had arrived three days ago. He must have noticed how Potter took his tea before he ‘disappeared’. He had noticed quite a bit about Potter it seemed. 

It had been quiet without him, those weeks when he had been gone. Severus had felt quite edgy then hadn’t he? The house had seemed so empty without the boy, so dull. The brat didn’t realise how important he was, rushing about with abandonment, risking himself like he did, when he was too important to risk! 

He hadn’t eaten anything either, had he? Despite Severus’ efforts to tempt him, and he used to love his food, Severus had always thought that Harry ate with such pleasure, never taking food for granted. He ate in a way that was almost sensual. Severus assumed that he had been eating and drinking when he wasn’t around, because Potter wouldn’t have gone all that time without sustenance would he? Not in Severus’ experience of the boy at least. But then he was always around, wasn’t he? Potter had hardly left him alone, not in three days, not until tonight.

He had tried tricking him, tried enticing him but nothing seemed to work. It was almost as if……

He cast _tempus_ again. eight thirty-seven. He was sure more time had past than that? Maybe the spell was not working correctly?

Eight thirty-eight. Seemed to be okay. He should drink his tea before it got cold.

Where had Potter said he was going again? Something about saying goodbye to those he loved. Overdramatic, that’s what he was. Seeking attention as usual.

_saying goodbye_

Severus shivered again, although the room was not cold, it was hot, humid. Severus was sure that a storm was building.

By eleven forty-one, Severus was getting worried.

He had had six cups of tea. All made properly, in the teapot, fresh each time and not reheated. He had tried to read (and then discarded) a number of different books and cast _tempus_ more times than he cared to remember but Potter had still not returned.

There was a tune running round in his head. He concentrated on that instead of thinking about Potter and tried to remember what the music was from, it seemed very familiar.

Severus admired Mahler and would admit to a certain enjoyment of Beethoven, especially the third and fifth symphonies. He would, if pressed, reluctantly agree to a slight fondness for Tchaikovsky but the blessed man was far too romantic to be a proper composer. 

And then he remembered.

When he was still at school, Lily had taken him to the Muggle cinema. He had never been before but she had. It was one of her favourite places to visit outside school. They had walked into Hogsmeade and apparated from there.

_My Fair Lady_ Lily had loved it! It was being shown as part of a musical retrospective at some small independent place. She had danced all the way back to Hogwarts, she had hummed the songs for weeks. It had been the last thing that they had done together and Severus had loved it too. It had been his only experience of the cinema. Lily had begun to date the brat’s father just a couple of weeks later and Severus had stopped speaking to her. 

She had asked him to join her again several times, but he never had and finally she had given up asking.

Severus felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Ever since he had turned up like the proverbial bad penny, Potter had been humming a selection of tunes and Severus had found them vaguely familiar, an echo of a memory. He had assumed that they were just Muggle pop songs and ignored them whenever he could. But they had still niggled. He had even asked Potter where he knew the songs from when one or two of them seemed to get stuck in his own head and he had found himself whistling them at various times in the last day or so.

Potter had shrugged and said, “When I saw my Mum she sang them to me, I think. But I can’t really remember. I wish I could!” Severus had sneered at him yet again. But Harry had been telling the truth, hadn’t he? 

About everything.

They were the songs from My Fair Lady!

_Lily?_

She had sung their songs to him, sung to her child.

Severus sat down. Heavily.

“Oh my God!”

The words of the tune that had haunted him all evening came rushing back to him and he remembered them as if it were yesterday that he had heard them last. 

He whispered them quietly to himself, just changing them a little bit so that they were more suited to him and to……Harry. 

Oh Harry!

_But I'm so used to hear him say_  
"Good morning" ev'ry day.   
His joys, his woes,   
His highs, his lows,   
Are second nature to me now;   
Like breathing out and breathing in.   
I'm very grateful he's a boy   
And so easy to forget;   
Rather like a habit   
One can always break-   
And yet,   
I've grown accustomed to the trace   
Of something in the air; 

_\- Accustomed to his face._

Harry was his Eliza and he was Henry Higgins, grumpy and irascible. Dismissive of a bright, charming young thing that he had slowly fallen in love with, refusing to believe it, not telling the truth, not even to himself. 

Severus felt cold all over. It was the icy grip of sudden realisation, about something long denied. He’d had a revelation.

All at once, there was a crash. Deep in thought as he had been, Severus almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected intrusion. 

Harry burst through the back door. He was soaking wet, his hair was even messier than usual, sticking every which way in thick, ebony spikes and his eyes fairly danced with delight. He had never seemed more alive than he did right then, which was ironic really considering he kept insisting that he was dead.

“Severus you have to come outside. It’s raining!”

“That is hardly a great shock, Potter. We are in England in August - of course it is raining!” Severus snarled, surprised by the boy’s unexpected entrance. He winced when heard his own voice, the sharpness, the distain.

But the boy had not even seemed to notice.

Harry looked away as a huge crash of thunder drowned out all other sound for a moment or two. He seemed as eager as a small child who was getting ready for Christmas.

“It’s wonderful out there!” he continued. “Just brilliant! I can feel the rain, really feel it. For the first time since I arrived I can feel something, Severus! It’s like a gift. It must mean that my time is nearly up. It’s time to go back!” 

The room was suddenly lit by a blinding whiteness and Harry groaned.

It was a guttural sound, nearly feral in it’s intensity.

Severus felt like someone had connected the lightning to his groin. It was almost as if he were on fire himself.

“We’re missing it!” Harry yelled, and he turned and raced outside again.

“Stop!” Severus shouted. “What do you mean your time is nearly up?” The heat had gone as quickly as it had arrived. It had been three days since he had first found Harry, three days since the boy had become such an integral part of his life again. Had Harry been telling the truth all along? Surely not? 

But what other explanation could there be? Severus had found none, not in all his searching and not with his scepticism.

Nothing to explain the fact that the boy was invisible, inaudible to anyone else; no reason for his inability to touch anyone or anything but Severus, no plausible explanation for his silent apparitions or his seeming facility to avoid any need for food, water or sleep. No apparent explanation for the fact that the whole time that he had been here, Harry had not once drawn a breath.

“No! Don’t leave me!” 

Suddenly Severus knew the truth: Harry _was_ dead, he really was. But he was not a ghost, he was an angel. Of course he was an angel! Who could possibly deserve Heaven more than him? Nobody could be more fitted, more worthy than Harry.

Severus had spent his entire life in the magical world, he had seen countless wonders and many things that almost defied explanation, but this? This was nothing short of a miracle. Heaven existed. Harry was an angel and he was leaving; he was being taken away from Severus

He hadn’t heard Severus’ last few words, he hadn’t been listening. He was going, just like he said he would, just like he had promised.

He ran outside into the tempest, desperate to see the boy before he disappeared again. He needed him; he didn’t want him to go. He loved him. He knew it with more certainty than he had felt in his entire life, about anything.

A storm like nothing he had ever seen was raging all around them. The sky was alive with colour and brightness and energy. Bolts of light, eerily reminiscent of the one on Harry’s forehead crossed over each other and chased across the inky darkness. The monstrous crashes of a thunder louder than any that he had heard before roared its fury and all the while the rain poured unstoppable from the night time sky.

“It’s bloody fantastic, Sev!” Harry shouted. “I can feel it, touch it, taste it! It’s a gift, a final gift. It’s almost like being alive again!

“THANK YOU, GABRIEL!!!! THANK YOU. I FUCKING LOVE YOU!!!”

Harry was shrieking his delight and whirling around with his arms outstretched like a child, dancing through the storm. The robe that he was wearing was almost transparent, clinging against him, hiding nothing of his magnificent body, toned by years of Quidditch and racing around trying to battle Dark Lords. The boy was finally all grown up. His hair was plastered to his forehead and raindrops clung to his thick black lashes. His wings were spread wide, the feathers glowing against the lightning and the halo shimmering, like molten gold, shining brighter than everything else.

Severus had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life.

“Harry! Harry! Listen please, I have to know, you have to tell me. It was the truth, wasn’t it? You were telling the truth?”

Suddenly everything seemed quieter. The lightning still flashed but the only noise for now was the heavy rain driving against the hard sun-baked soil.

Harry stopped twirling and looked at him.

“You called me Harry!” he said. He was puzzled, adorably confused and Severus prayed it wasn’t too late. He loved the boy; he had done for years, he knew that now and he couldn’t bear to lose him. Not when he had finally admitted the truth, something that he had known deep down all along. 

He, Severus Snape, snarky bastard, greasy git, loved Harry Potter with all that he had. He admired him, his honesty, his bravery his refusal to be beaten down by the crap that life threw at him. He enjoyed his company, liked having him around. Harry made his life better, he made _him_ a better man. He needed him, wanted him, hadn’t had long enough. 

Forever wouldn’t be long enough.

“Harry,” Severus croaked, “why can nobody see you but me?”

The boy was watching him; head on one side, that little frown line firmly in place between his brows. He looked ethereal, unearthly. How could Severus ever have doubted what he was? The lightening illuminated them both and it was as if finally the truth was laid bare, the whole truth - that Severus loved him. He loved him, he wanted him, he could not live without him and Severus could deny it no longer. 

He was part of the storm, this beautiful boy. No. He _was_ the storm. Heaven was lamenting the passing of a champion; it was celebrating the life of a hero.

“I told you,” Harry said. “That first day that you saw me, I told you then. It was a mix up, a mistake.”

“No, not that!” Severus knew with a certainty that was bone deep that there was almost no time left.

“Why me, Harry? Why only me?”

Harry looked infinitely sad for a moment. 

When he spoke Severus had to strain to hear him.

“They said that only my true love, my soul mate could see me, touch me. I tried everyone, but I couldn’t touch them, couldn’t make them see me. It was just like they said it would be. I couldn’t show them that I was there; they didn’t even seem to sense me. Well, not until tonight when I went to say goodbye. When you spoke to me, when you saw that I was there when no one else could, I knew it was all over, that I would be going back, that there was no hope!

“Soul mates indeed! Some giant cosmic joke that is!”

Severus felt bereft. 

“Am I so dreadful, then,” he asked brokenly, “so awful that you would rather be dead than be with me?”

Harry looked astonished.

“Don’t be daft!” he exclaimed. “I have fancied you for ages now. That lovely silky voice of yours, those dark velvet eyes that seem to see me; no one else ever did that you know, just saw me. Your courage, your bravery - the way that you always tried to look after me, even though you have always hated me. Of course I want you. These last three days have been really great, I am just grateful that we got this time, that I got to know you properly. I think I fell in love. You’re amazing, you know?”

The sad little smile that he gave almost broke Severus’ heart.

The rain had increased yet again, heavier than before, it was almost deafening he couldn’t really hear Harry’s last words, he felt them instead.

“I just knew that you would never want me! Why would you? Why would anyone really?

“Goodbye Severus.

“Please tell my friends that I love them.”

All at once he was distracted by another peal of thunder and he turned his head towards the sky.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he began to fade away.

“NO!” 

Severus didn’t call out; instead the cry was ripped from him. Torn from deep inside his soul.

He threw himself forward and all at once his arms were full of Harry. 

Harry Angel. 

Severus was kissing him, hungrily, passionately. Telling him, showing him with everything that he had, everything that he was, how much he loved him too. Then somehow Harry was kissing him back, just as passionately, just as urgently. Severus could feel Harry’s hands stroking him touching him and he could feel Harry against him his body firm, strong, vibrant, alive! Crushed against Severus, held tightly, securely. Severus felt that he might never let go.

The ground beneath them was almost liquid; the top layer had turned to mud, it clung to them, as they sank to their knees still kissing, tumbling down, until finally they were lying together totally entwined. Severus holding Harry on top of him, protected at last from the relentless rain by the safety, the security of Harry’s wings. The almost liquid soil oozed between their fingers, onto their skin, their clothing and all the time the rain beat down, lashing them closer in their feathery cocoon. 

Harry head was thrown back; his face was wet with what seemed like a thousand tears. Severus kissed his neck, his collarbone, felt the firm pectoral muscles the strong arms crushed against him. He held on with all that he was, he was never going to let go. Harry moaned, he pushed back against Severus his hips undulating against Severus’ seemingly lost in the moment. He was hard, his cock was pushed into Severus’ groin and Severus in turn was pushing back. 

“Love you Harry,” he found himself muttering into the hot, wet, skin of Harry’s chest, trailing kisses from the little corner of flesh between neck and collarbone. “I love you.”

Harry was panting; he had drawn in a deep breath – it seemed that he needed air again now.

“But you hate me! Don’t you Severus? Don’t you hate me?” 

“Not any more. Didn’t you know how close they are love and hate? Silly boy.” Severus was desperately running his hands over Harry as if searching for injuries as if checking that he was truly real.

The warm weight of the boy pressed on top of him, the protective umbrella of Harry’s wings isolated them from the ferocious weather. It was almost as if having nearly succeeded in taking him away the storm was raging against its loss.

“Can’t have him. Mine.” Severus ground out, his mouth full with the taste, the essence of Harry.

“Oh God!” Harry cried. “Yours, Sev, all yours.” He arched upwards, wings stark against the sky, face, throat, shoulders once again illuminated by the unearthly light. He screamed his completion into the night and then he collapsed back down and draped over Severus covering him with warmth and life.

The fire that had ignited in Severus earlier returned in full force and raged through him, unstoppable. The blinding light of his orgasm blended with the lightning, the thunder matched the roaring in his ears. The rain still pounded them for a while, getting gentler all the time, until finally it left them with a final caress. 

They were reborn, renewed. The storm was over at last, its job done. It had washed them clean so that they could start afresh and Severus knew no more.

 

It was Lupin who found them in the morning, wrapped tightly around each other, fast asleep. The garden was soaking wet, the dry grass turned to gloopy mud. All around everything was sodden, everything except Severus and Harry, snuggled down in a nest of feathers warm and cosy and completely dry.

Severus watched Lupin come over to them, watched him kneel down beside them both and gently stroke Harry’s hair in silent wonderment. Harry sighed in his sleep but other than that he did not stir, except perhaps to cuddle just a tiny bit closer to Severus. The wings were gone; the halo disappeared, with only the feathers to show that these things had ever been.

Severus was wrapped in feathers, surrounded by them, had been for hours and yet there was no reaction other than a feeling of peace, of serenity. He hadn’t sneezed once, his allergy was cured.

“Harry? Harry!” Lupin was whispering the boy’s name his voice filled with delight.

“It’s a miracle, Severus! I thought he was dead,” he said, his eyes glittering with tears. “Last night, just for a moment, I thought he was there with me, I thought he had come to say goodbye, but he is here, he’s alive. It really is a miracle.”

“Yes Remus,” Severus replied simply. “It truly is.”

 

The celebrations that followed went on for weeks. Somehow with the return of their idol, it was if the wizarding world had rediscovered hope. There can’t have been many people who were glad to hear Harry declaring his undying love for the hated ex-spy and former Death Eater Severus Snape, but on the wave of euphoria, which seemed to be engulfing them all they were prepared to give their hero anything. If he wanted the snarky, greasy git in his life then the magical world was happy to indulge him and Harry it seemed took full advantage of their sudden largesse. 

They were married three weeks after Remus found them that morning dry and protected amongst the sodden vegetation by a pile of white feathers, which had since then, slowly faded away. Hermione was the maid-of-honour and Ron was Harry’s best man. Arthur Weasley stood for Severus and nobody gave anyone away.

They gave themselves instead.

Harry seemed delighted to have found someone to love him and now that Severus had finally seen through all the illusions that he had built up over the years he marvelled over the fact that Harry could ever have chosen him.

They didn’t tell any one what had happened. Severus invented a story whereby Harry had become confused during the battle and been found by Muggles returning to the magical world only when his memory returned. They didn’t mention angels or halos or wings or the fact that Harry had wandered amongst them for a week invisible to them all. Who would have believed them anyway?

For Severus, Harry’s love meant absolution, the chance to redeem himself at last.

Harry was far less complicated, Severus’ love made him content.

And if sometimes Harry caught the shadow of a memory of elsewhere, then he set it free, for now was not the right time to remember such things.

And if Severus began to brood about what might have happened if he had not had his revelation then Harry would hum some show tunes and Severus would feel more cheerful and sometimes he might even go so far as to almost smile.

And if they didn’t live happily ever after, they did at the very least give happiness a damned good try.

_finis_


End file.
